Cold Feet
by the swoop
Summary: It's the morning of Prince Roald and Princess Shinkokami's wedding, and things are getting a little TOO exciting. A round-robin story by writers at The Swoop on Livejournal.
1. Index of Authors

**COLD FEET **

_A round-robin story by the writers at The Swoop_

* * *

Author Name by Chapter (at Fanfiction dot Net / on livejournal)

Chapter One by sarcastic rabbit / team-fen

Chapter Two by Rainstorm Amaya Arianrhod / rain-sleet-snow

Chapter Three by crouchingbunny / feistycoyote

Chapter Four by Madame-S-Butterfly / blackfaery01

Chapter Five by Lady Reena / reenalaughalotz

Chapter Six by anythingatall / girl-called-sun

Chapter Seven by Heather the Writer / heather-neather

Chapter Eight by robearroar

Chapter Nine by Tuathail / wottie

Chapter Ten by sivvussa / vivien-sivvus

Chapter Eleven by osprey-archer

Edited by Lady Reena / reenalaughalotz

* * *

Disclaimer: All characters belong to Tamora Pierce, except for the ones that don't.


	2. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

* * *

It was a disaster. A full-blown, monumental screw-up of epic proportions. Countries would go to war, civilizations would collapse, and life as it was known would end.

Sir Nealan of Queenscove looked at his good friend Prince Roald, who was about to embark on the happiest day of his life—his wedding day—and tried to resist the urge to tear out his hair in horror.

Surely it was all a misunderstanding, and the last five minutes were a figment of his overactive imagination. Neal did his best to take a deep breath and reach for calm. He was a trained healer, Black God have mercy! He was experienced in dealing with people in times of terrible stress and trauma, and he could draw on a mask of professional reassurance at will.

"Roald," said Neal soothingly, "Why don't you calm down and tell me again what's wrong from the beginning?"

The Crown Prince of Tortall looked at him with searing blue eyes in a strained face. "I've been telling you over and over, Neal. Please try to listen! I don't think I can go through with this."

There were those awful words again: a brassy fanfare of impending doom, echoing painfully to and fro in Neal's poor head.

"Continue," he gritted out supportively.

Prince Roald resumed his frantic pacing over the soft carpet of his private chamber. He was a serious, reserved young man in his Conté-blue wedding tunic stitched with silver and white. His shirt and hose were silken-grey, and his leather shoes highly polished. His jewels and coronet were still in their flat rosewood boxes on the desk; his heavy silver and black brocaded cape was flung over the wardrobe door. Clear morning sunlight streamed through the open window, letting in the calls of songbirds and the shouts and bangs of Palace servants making last-minute wedding preparations outside.

Roald spoke in a low, tense voice as he paced, eyes fixed on his own restless feet.

"I always thought that there would be time, Neal. More time, at any rate, than this. And here it is,"—Roald paused, pale, and forced himself to say the words, "—my wedding day—"

He stopped, unable to continue. He turned abruptly and stared rigidly out at the beautiful day and the organized chaos of the Palace servants.

"Go on," said Neal apprehensively. The tight collar of Neal's pink silk shirt with green stitching, matching his green tunic and pink hose, was making it hard to breathe. Neal felt the need to join Roald in his pacing, or maybe just fall on his knees and start offering the Gods his firstborn if they would fix this nightmare for him. He stayed where he was, sitting by the desk.

Roald's eyes were shadowed. Had he slept at all?

"That's it. That's all. It's here; I'm not ready to get married. What have I done in my life?" The soft intensity of Roald's voice was getting louder and strained. "I've always tried to be the 'dutiful son' and the 'perfect prince'—an example to others." He spoke the last words with quiet contempt. "It was my duty to serve my family and the people of Tortall. And now I'm to be married and I'll be a dutiful husband and a dutiful father, and one day a responsible king; and I'll never have lived my life at all!"

"But you're always so calm! I had no idea you felt this way," said Neal, dismayed and at a loss. He flung out his arms. "Everyone relies on you because we know we can. You always do what's best."

"Don't you see? That's just it. I do what people expect me to do; never what I want. I say what I should, not what I feel."

It's always the quiet ones, Neal thought, mind racing frantically. Not a bad word or a stupid action from Roald for as long as I've known him, and when he finally does panic, it's like the end of the world for him—no practice. It's much safer to panic regularly, like me.

"What about Princess Shinkokami? I thought the two of you were getting along. Do you love her?"

Roald looked stricken. "Yes. I don't know. I thought I did. She's beautiful and kind and we enjoy each other's company. She's been teaching me Yamani, and she laughs when I get it wrong; says I'd mortally offend someone within a minute of opening my mouth in the Yamani Isles—"

Roald broke off abruptly. "What's _wrong_ with me, Neal? How can I even be considering doing this to Shinko? The last thing I want to do is hurt her. How can I be having these thoughts? What kind of husband and father would I make? What kind of king will I be?" His self-loathing evident, he stared at Neal as though Neal, who people had been calling an idiot for years, was capable of finding him an answer.

Neal's mind reached urgently for a method of escape. A boat! That was it! Neal would go somewhere nice and far away, like Carthak, where he would be attended by beautiful dancing-girls and travel everywhere by elephant. If he left now, he could ship out of Tortall before anyone discovered that he had failed his duties as a groomsman and ruined the kingdom, and asked for his head at Traitor's Gate.

Neal took a deep breath and let it out.

"Now look here, Your Royal Highness," he drawled, "you're lucky that you have an experienced groomsman to set you straight about your wedding jitters. I was groomsman to my cousin Theril last spring, and he was three-sheets-to-the-wind on his wedding day. But the wedding went off just fine, and now they're happily married and expecting a child. So you see," Neal said, his words creating their own momentum, "it's perfectly normal for a man to be terrified on his wedding day! In fact, it's expected; a male rite of passage! I fully plan to be hungover and shaking at my own wedding!"

"Do you really think that it's so?" said Roald. He looked dubious, but some of his normal colour had returned to his face.

"Of course," said Neal confidently. "You love Shinko; she loves you. It may be an arranged marriage, but the two of you are just the right young people to make it work. And," he paused dramatically, "after you make it through the ceremony, you have your wedding night to look forward to, you lucky dog!"

"Hear, hear!" chimed in Prince Liam from where he was lounging on a backless sofa, his feet crossed over the far arm-rest. A different animal than his older brother, Liam had been following the conversation with lazy unconcern, stroking his rakish brown mustache from time to time. He wore his Conté-blue tunic with a white shirt and brown hose, and his stitched embroidery was in white and silver.

Roald was noticeably silent.

"Roald?" Neal said uncertainly. "You _are_ looking forward to your wedding night, aren't you?"

If Roald folded in on himself any further he might choke right out of existence.

"...Yes…in theory," said Roald in a small voice.

Neal could feel his eyebrows rising inescapably towards his hairline.

Roald said with the utmost reluctance, "…It's just that I don't have any experience in this particular area." He looked as though he urgently desired the Black God's embrace.

"Wait," said Liam, suddenly interested. "What about that girl at the—"

"No."

"I thought for sure that time when—"

"No."

"Great Gods, Roald!" said Liam, thunderstruck. "You must be the only virgin at Court!"

Into the resounding silence that followed, Neal dove with the dumb faith of a baby bird taking its first flight: mouth first.

"Don't be ridiculous, Your Highness," Neal snapped at Liam. "It's hardly uncommon, strange though the notion might seem to you with all your 'vast' experience."

Liam smoothed his mustache, looking pleased.

"Isn't it?" Roald said, quietly self-deprecating. "I know it's odd at my age. It's yet another one of those things that I thought I would have time for in the future. It was never a simple thing to court a girl for me," he said haltingly. "It was my responsibility to behave in a way that both Father and Mother would approve of and to marry for the benefit of Tortall. It seemed cruel to lead a girl on when I could have no intention of marriage or a decent relationship. And then Shinko arrived two years ago, and I needed to behave honourably towards her—there was no way I could have been with anyone else. It would have hurt her terribly. So, there—myself, as I am."

"I never thought about any of those things," said Liam, his sleepy brown eyes surprised under long brown bangs.

"You wouldn't," said Roald wryly. "You have considerably more freedom in your behaviour than the Heir."

"Huh," said Liam. He and Roald exchanged a thoughtful glance, each seeing perhaps something new. Liam spoke first.

"Well, Big Brother, never fear. Your problem is easily solved."

"Oh?"

"It is?" said Neal.

"Of course!" Liam laughed heartily. "There's still hours before the wedding. I know this place in the Lower City; the girls there are very talented and very discreet—"

But Roald had turned green and fled. The sound of someone retching into a basin came from behind the curtain that hid the alcove for personal necessities.

"Now look what you've done!" Neal hissed, trying to keep his voice down. He was on his feet, glaring at Liam.

"What?" said Liam. "I didn't do anything."

"Does the word 'Doomed' mean anything to you?" said Neal in a furious whisper. "Because that's what we all are if this wedding doesn't take place! What are we going to do? Think, think!"

"You need to calm down," said Liam mildly.

Neal took a huge breath. "All right. I will go and get help—and you will stay here. Keep Roald calm; don't let anyone in except me, and for the love of the blessed Gods, don't let anyone know that anything is wrong!"

"What kind of help?"

"I don't know yet!" said Neal. "A priest? A happily married man? A bottle of gin? I'll figure it out along the way; and if you don't look after your brother, I will be sure to let Her Majesty know why the day wasn't a success!"

"All right, all right," said Liam hurriedly. He headed for the alcove. Liam was notoriously unhelpful when it came to pleasing his father, but he cared a great deal what Queen Thayet thought.

"And lock the door!" Neal called after him.

He couldn't remember a time when he had been this panicked, his mind tumbling and flipping like a starving Player. Maybe when he had been rejected by Uline of Hannalof for the third time, in front of her friends; or when Lady Alanna, his evil Knight Mistress, had sat and talked about all the things he would undertake in his training if he ever tried to court her daughter, while her scary husband had stood by with crossed arms, looking amused. (Neal had only said how lovely she was looking that day to be polite. It was _manners._) Or perhaps the time that he had followed Kel on her suicide mission into enemy territory during the war. How a person as determinedly inoffensive as Kel managed to unfailingly attract (or was it be attracted to?) all the crazy, violent lowlifes in any given country never stopped amazing him.

Neal hurried down the corridor, and, because the Gods hated him today, was promptly attacked by a giant blue powderpuff.

"Oof!" said Neal, clutching his stomach.

Instead of apologizing, the powderpuff tried to detain him; but Neal was on a mission and had no time to listen.

"Listen you monstrous ball of tulle," he told it disdainfully, "go and horrify some poor other right-thinking person of fashion."

That was when it kicked him in the shins.

"Ow!" howled Neal. "What are those shoes made of—cannon shrapnel? Leave me alone!"

Neal found himself being stared at for the second time this morning by a famous pair of blue eyes wanting something from him. The focused malevolence of this glare made him wistfully think of the other, gentler, one.

"Lady Yukimi wants to see you," the powderpuff said emphatically.

"Well why didn't you say so," said Neal in exasperation.

It rolled its eyes.

Neal found himself being marched through the Palace, past throngs of frantically busy servants with sprigs of cherry blossom pinned to their liveried chests. The bride's rooms were on the far side of the Palace from the groom's, and the trip was so far that Neal could have left for Carthak at the same time and gotten there sooner. He was speaking longingly to no one in particular of Carthaki dancing girls and the wonder of the bared midriff, and the bloodthirsty powderpuff was rolling its eyes again, ("They'll stay like that, you know," said Neal.) when they arrived at Yuki's door, several rooms down the hall from the bride's suite.

His fiancée was inside her tiny receiving room, sitting as tall as her straight-backed posture could stretch her short height, waving a delicate paper fan.

"Nea-ran," she greeted him, mispronouncing his name adorably as usual. Her Common was nearly as fluent as his, but, in the way of all Yamani-born speakers, her 'l's' continued to elude her.

Normally Neal was thrilled to spend time with his future wife, and the wedding preparations lately had made it hard for them to find time to be alone together, but Neal was horribly aware of Roald waiting in his room and of time running out before the ceremony.

"Lady Yukimi," he said.

"Thank you for taking time from your duty to see me."

Something wasn't right here. Her face was the polite, impersonal mask she reserved for strangers and enemies. Had he done something wrong? Neal racked his brains.

"You look particularly lovely today, my shiny Yamani dragonfly," he ventured. He liked how she looked in the Yamani kimonos that were so beautiful on Princess Shinkokami's ladies, but seldom looked as well on Tortallan women. This one was marvelously patterned with white and silver on blue. Its heavy silken drapes set off Yuki's small, rounded form, and the colour suited her long, gold-flecked brown eyes and creamy skin. He squinted. "Is that the one you wore at Baroness Strichline's garden party last week?" Hah! He'd remembered.

The fan shut with a snap.

"It is the finest Yamani silk sent from the Emperor's own weavers and made especially for the wedding."

Neal cringed. "And as beautiful as it is, it still is nothing without you to show it at its best, my fragrant cherry blossom," he said hastily.

Yuki merely flicked her eyes to his side. "_Arigatou gozaimasu_ Vania-chan," she said. "I need to speak to Nealan alone now."

The two girls exchanged a glance, and then Roald's youngest sister nodded and left, closing the door behind her.

"Was there something you wanted?" Neal said when she didn't say anything.

"How is Prince Roald?" Yuki said, still horribly polite.

_Thinking of calling the whole thing off_, Neal didn't say.

"Fine, great. Doing well."

"Ah."

Neal shifted uneasily as she fluttered her fan.

"Looking forward to the wedding. He's so eager I thought I was going to have to restrain him from leaving for the pavilion hours too soon," Neal said, babbling.

"Did he have any message for Shinko-sama?"

"What? No, not a specific message, to be exact, although if he'd known I was going to be speaking to you, no doubt he would have had me pass something along."

Yuki's expectant gaze seemed to become disapproving.

"And how is Princess Shinkokami?" Neal forged ahead.

"Most well."

"Ah. Excellent."

The silence was very awkward.

"What's wrong?" Neal said suddenly. "You only play with your fan like that when you're worried about something."

Yuki's eyes narrowed. She closed the fan with a snap.

"Everything is perfectly well," she said implacably.

"No, I don't think it is," said Neal. Then he had a sudden leap in thought. "Ye Gods," he said aghast. "Princess Shinkokami's having second thoughts too!"

One look at Yuki's shocked face told him he was right.

"Too?" she snapped dangerously. "What does this mean, 'too'?"

"Argh!" yelled Neal. And then, because it seemed to need repeating, "Argh!" He fisted his hands in his hair and pulled, but instead of coming out, it only made his eyes water. He waved his arms instead. "We're all doomed. Doomed! I would have loved to marry you, my intoxicating drink of sake, and have many children with your looks and my brains, but now it will never happen. I'll go to prison for failing my kingdom; you will die of a broken heart, and the country will be overrun with tiny, angry Yamani warriors terrorizing everyone, like four hundred years ago—"

"—I would not die of a broken heart," said Yuki, eyes blazing.

"Our heads! They'll cut off our heads. OW!" yelled Neal.

Yuki had whacked him on the head with her steel-spined fan.

She stood; a small firecracker of a girl with temper flying off of her in sparks. "Shinko-sama will not be disappointed on her wedding day!"

"While I agree with you wholeheartedly," Neal drawled, feeling hysterical, "events seem to indicate otherwise."

Yuki looked down her small nose at him. "Must I do everything? Quiet, and I will think of a plan."

After some intense thought, she started to speak, interrupted frequently by Neal saying things like, "What? No. You're insane! I'm engaged to a mad-woman!" and "There's no plane of existence in which that would work," and "maybe… all right… that's not entirely a terrible idea if we just—"

They gazed at each other in the ensuing silence.

"Well?" Yuki said. She looked worried.

Neal swung her up into his arms. He kissed her full on the mouth and then looked into her bright, willful face. Her slippers dangled a good foot off the ground.

"You're brilliant," he said in a heartfelt voice. "Completely insane, but brilliant, and if we manage to get through today alive, it will be entirely because of you. I've changed my mind—our children can have your brains and my looks."

"I must have been hit on the head the day I agreed to marry you," she said, pretending to be annoyed, but her eyes were warm. He could count the sprinkling of gold freckles that dotted her round cheeks. She hated them; Neal secretly wanted to kiss every one.

"Put me down, Ni-kun" she said, narrowing her eyes at him.

"I like you where you are, my tasty piece of sushi. Besides," Neal drawled, "it's your chance to find out what it's like to breathe the air up here."

She considered him from the corners of her eyes. "Put me down, or when you visit my home in Yaman, I will tell my mother that you are a terrible husband who beats me."

"Are you telling me I should be afraid of a pint-sized Yamani woman?" Neal scoffed.

Yuki blinked long lashes. "She could make you very afraid," she said sweetly, "but she would not bother. She will tell my brothers and father, and then you will be sorry."

"You are an evil woman," Neal said with admiration. He gave her a long kiss on the forehead and a quick squeeze, and set her gently down. "I promise that if we make it through today, I will marry you with no fuss whatsoever—I won't even shed a tear for the passing of my wild, carefree bachelor days."

"What is there to miss?" Yuki sniffed. "You begged to marry me. Boys—such fools!" Her eyes sparkled.

"How in the world do you put up with us?" agreed Neal cheerfully. "I'll see you at the ceremony then, my inscrutably succinct haiku."

"At the ceremony. Yes," said Yuki firmly.

They looked at each other for a moment, and then Neal hurried out the door.

* * *

Ni-kun ("little burden")

arigatou gozaimasu (thank you very much)

A/N: Thanks to Amelia for helping with Yamani nicknames, Sally for her advice, and Reena for fixing, among other things, the many run-ons.


	3. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

* * *

This was not good. Vania of Conté could not be called an expert on weddings, but this was _not_ good.

Princess Shinkokami, who had tentatively asked the youngest royal child to call her Shinko and had promptly been taken under the princess in question's wing, was doing something that wasn't exactly striding up and down but was as close to it as Yamanis ever got. If this weren't worrying enough, Yuki, who allowed Vania to call her Oneesan, was looking anxious and talking at very high speed in Yamani. Lady Haname, whose reserve and mountainous dignity had baffled even Vania's genius for nicknames and familiarity, was also looking worried. Vania's sister Lianne was beginning to look perturbed, as well, although neither Conté girl could understand the rapid-fire syllables being fired across the room by the bride and her Yamani bridesmaids.

Vania fidgeted in her seat. Her dress itched and it looked to Vania's untrained eye a bit like a blueberry-tinged meringue. The seamstresses, Princess Lianne, Queen Thayet, Liam, Lady Haname, Yuki, Shinko, Prince Roald and Prince Jasson had all said she looked very sweet in it, but Vania's sharp eyes had noticed that Liam and Jasson were only just controlling their laughter.

She caught the words 'wedding', 'Roald', and 'help' in the sea of foreign words only some of which Yuki and Shinko had taught her, and her apprehension that this was not good increased. She got up, carefully leaving her wreath of roses behind, and padded over to Yuki.

"Oneesan," she said quietly, and then louder, "Oneesan!"

"- yes-Vania-chan-what-is-it-now-can-it-wait-" Yuki said.

Vania tugged the older girl down to her level, and muttered a suggestion in it. Yuki frowned briefly, then nodded, a dawn of desperate optimism breaking on her lovely face. "Yes, yes, Vania, _clever_ girl- I shall wait for him in the private receiving-room- now go, quickly!"

Lianne, who had watched the exchange with interest, reached over as her sister barrelled towards the door like a blue pom-pom on legs and dropped the wreath of roses neatly on her head, and then went back to her book.

* * *

Vania flew through the palace towards Roald's rooms, navigating with the unerring eye of someone who had spent all her life here, and the perfect confidence of a much-loved princess that everyone would get out of her way as opposed to vice-versa.

Servants, gardeners, maids, footmen all saw the dress coming and spotted the dark curly hair, and guessed immediately exactly who was traversing the palace at such deadly speed. Assuming correctly that she was on important business relating to the wedding, they let her pass with the occasional smile, bobbed curtsey or small bow, which she responded to cheerfully but slightly absent-mindedly.

Despite the unfortunately un-aerodynamic nature of her clothing, she managed to make her way to Roald's rooms at a decent speed and without any damage to her dress, right up until she charged slap-bang into Nealan of Queenscove, also in some hurry and going in the other direction.

"Oof!" the idiot said with some surprise. Vania wondered irritably why the hell Oneesan was marrying a nitwit like this one who couldn't even look where he was going, and gave him a ferocious Conté glare just on principle. She seized his arm, and started to march in the direction she'd come from, but he seemed to be resisting. Stupid of him, but Vania paid no attention until she heard him say:

"Listen, you monstrous ball of tulle, go and horrify some poor other right-thinking person of fashion."

That was not acceptable, even if he had a more horrible outfit. (Pink and green? Vania's inner, viciously repressed but nevertheless developing, dress sense screamed in pain.) Vania spun and kicked him, as viciously as she could, on the shins, and was gratified to hear a howl of pain. Quite right too.

"Ow!" yelled Nealan of Queenscove. "What are those shoes made of—cannon shrapnel? Leave me alone!"

"Silk, leather and wood, actually," Vania muttered, but was sure he didn't hear her. She stared balefully at him, just to make sure he was paying attention, and then said loudly and clearly, "Lady Yukimi wants to see you," hoping he would understand.

He appeared to, at least, although she didn't appreciate the "Well, why didn't you say so!" and instantly started on her task of towing Nealan back to Yuki's receiving-room. The journey was a lot slower with Neal to deal with, and Vania wished she could just have decanted him into a cart and trundled him through the corridors. It would have been quicker.

It also didn't help that the further they went along, the more the son and heir to the Queenscove line kept muttering feverishly about Carthak and dancing-girls, and Vania found herself rolling her eyes frequently. Why was Oneesan marrying this nincompoop again? She'd have to ask, but possibly not now.

Vania yanked open the door to Yuki's receiving-room, gave Nealan a healthy shove inside, and then slipped in after him, closing the door neatly behind her.

There was some stilted talk between Yuki and Neal that wasn't very interesting, and Vania sighed to herself and hoped that Oneesan wasn't turning into a silly grown-up. Then, Oneesan said to her:

"_Arigatou gozaimasu_ Vania-chan," she said. "I need to speak to Nealan alone now."

The princess felt bright indignation flower in her head. But they were plotting! She wasn't going to go away now! She could be useful!

Happily for all concerned, who could have done without Vania digging her heels in and making a fuss, Yuki also shot her a glance full of meaning. Vania translated it, slightly wonkily, as saying: _Go on, Vania-chan, I'll tell you all about it as soon as I've got rid of him_.

So Vania nodded and slipped back out again.

Standing in the corridor, it occurred to her that she now had nothing to do. She could go back to the room in which Shinko-sama was working herself up into such a tizzy, but suspected she wouldn't be of any use, and Lianne might make pointed remarks about pretty dresses and not ripping or dirtying them, at least not before the end of the ceremony.

Vania bounced up and down aimlessly, looking around and wondering what to do next. Most Riders, several servants, a few of the King's Own and a good proportion of the Court could testify to the fact that Vania looking for something new to involve herself in was very dangerous indeed.

And then she had a thought. Vania was very fond of Roald, whom she looked on as nice but tragically over-endowed with common sense and scruples, and it would be a nice, sisterly thing to do to look in on him on his wedding day. So she set off at a brisk trot, dodging a mumbling gardener, leaping tidily over a lapdog and returning a stray squire's bow with a slightly clumsy curtsey on her way.

Some time later, Vania arrived at the groom's suite. It had taken her longer than usual, because she'd run into a group of noblewomen, who had spotted the princess and immediately begun to coo over how _adorable_ she looked in her _beautiful_ dress and wasn't Princess Shinkokami just _lovely _in her dress, _not_ that they'd seen it yet but they were sure it was absolutely _gorgeous_, and is it the same colour as your pretty dress, princess, and _don't_ you look grown up dressed like that, and isn't it just _terribly_ fun to be a bridesmaid, you look _just_ like your mother with those roses in your hair, aren't you going to be a _beauty_ when you grow up and so on and so on. Vania had plastered a smile onto her face, and escaped as quickly as possible by dint of simpering a bit and saying she had a very important errand to run for her brother.

Of course, this meant that they had said quite a lot on the subject of what a dear little girl she was, and what a kind sister, but Vania had been allowed to flee without being sick behind the bushes due to an overdose of sickly-sweet condescension.

She knocked at the door. Liam opened it.

"Sorry, the prince isn't receiving callers, hope it can wait, goodbye," he said, without checking the identity of the knocker, and shut it in Vania's face.

Vania blinked. Liam was the least helpful and most devious of her brothers, but she hadn't expected a cunning plot to keep her away from Roald by slamming the door on her.

After all, that wouldn't work and Liam surely knew that. They might be on the first floor, but there was a convenient cherry tree outside the window of this suite and the latch on the window unlocked if you hit the frame the right way.

The princess hammered on the door with a fist. "Liam! Let me in!"

"Roald isn't taking visitors!" came the yelled answer.

"Why not?" Vania demanded.

The door opened, and Liam's face, stooped to his younger sister's level and wearing an expression appropriate to one about to address an idiot, appeared. "_Because Nealan of Queenscove said so, silly_."

Vania kicked the nearest shin available on principle.

"Ow!" Liam yelped, and withdrew from kicking range. "You little witch! Right, that settles it, I'm definitely not letting you in-"

"Liam," Vania said, with an air of patience wearing thin.

"-going around kicking people's shins like that-" the prince persisted.

"Liam!"

"-not proper behaviour for a young lady-"

"_Liam_! Shut! Up!"

Liam shut up and stared at his sister. "All right, I'm telling Mother."

Vania scowled malevolently at him. "Just let me in. I need to talk to Roald."

The prince sighed and raked his floppy brown fringe off his face with his fingers, preparing to dispense wisdom. His sister interrupted. "You know that just makes you look like a pillock, right?"

It was Liam's turn to scowl. "Shut up. Look, Nia, Roald's all fussed and Neal went off to get help."

"Neal's stupid."

"I thoroughly agree, but he has his moments. He said that I mustn't let anyone in but him. So, I'm sorry, Nia, but..." He sighed again, raised his eyes regretfully to heaven, and slowly shut the door.

Vania stared narrowly at the door for a moment, plotting. Then she drew breath, collected a studiedly innocent expression on her face, and said carefully: "Of course, I could just go and tell Lianne about you making fun of Alan."

"Now, Nia," Liam said from behind the door, sounding distinctly more nervous.

"D'you remember what she did to the last person who called him out for... um... something like 'attempting to dess-eh-cay-te the royal bloodline and the princess's person'?" Vania asked, interestedly.

"I didn't actually think she and Alan had got quite _that_ far, and I'm pretty sure none of the rest of the Court did either, but yes, vividly. Nia-"

"Or I could tell Neal about the time you flirted with Rider Woodsman and got chewed by her pony so badly you had to go to the healers' in case it got septic?"

"Nia!" Liam wailed. "Stop trying to _blackmail_ me!"

"All right," his sister said obligingly. "I could go round the back instead into the little courtyard those rooms look onto and climb the cherry tree and get in the window. 'Course, I'd tear my dress and Mama might not be very pleased and I'd tell her of course I only wanted to see Roald, but you wouldn't let me in-"

"All right!" Liam yelled. "All right. I yield. I desist. I cease my noble doorkeeperly activities." So saying, he opened the door to his sister, and let her trip daintily over the threshold.

She smiled sweetly up into her brother's grumpy face. "Thanks, Li."

Liam winced at the nickname. "You know, sometimes you're too bloody like Father for anyone's good."

Vania ignored him, and walked purposefully into the room where her brother was pacing, fretting, and all but tearing his dark hair out. "Roald?" she said, startled.

Her oldest brother turned tortured blue eyes on her. "Vania, I don't really have time-"

"Roald, are you all right?"

Roald promptly exploded. "No I am not bloody all right! I'm about to go through with a marriage I'm not sure the other party bloody wants, I don't want to force Shinko to do anything-"

"Why would you have to?" Vania was deeply confused.

"-I've got the coldest feet this side of the Vassa and I wish this wasn't happening!"

Vania eyed her brother in much the same fashion as Lady Knight Keladry might a conservative nobleman who had just gone down on bended knee and declared passionate and unending love for her. "... Oh. All right?"

Roald made a noise indicative of imminent brain failure, and Vania considered him for a moment before fleeing.

"Shut the door after you," Liam said, barely looking up from a miniature portrait the subject of which Vania couldn't properly see.

Vania made even better time than usual back to the bride's suite, which she burst into, burst out of as she realised she had the wrong room and finally attempted to barrel into Yuki's receiving-room, crashing into Nealan of Queenscove on the way. Only slightly startled, she recoiled, seized Nealan's sleeve, and dragged him back into Yuki's receiving-room. "Whatever it is you're plotting, Oneesan, I want to help," she announced. "Roald's gone completely crazy, and Shinko-sama didn't look too healthy either!"

"Liam let _you_ in to see Roald?" Neal looked horrified. "The nitwit!"

Vania didn't bother to give him her best glare, handed down from generations of bossy K'miri noblewomen to Kalasin to Thayet to all three of her daughters, but instead looked at Yuki, who looked considering.

Neal noticed this too. "Yuki! You _can't_- she'll get in the way!"

"I will not either!" Vania said indignantly. "Oneesan, pleeeease..."

"Yukiiiii!" Neal pleaded.

"Ssh, Ni-kun," Yuki ordered magisterially. "Now, Vania-chan. This is what you have to do."

She proceeded to give Vania several broadly-phrased orders, while Neal put his head in his hands and moaned in despair and Vania's eyes widened appreciatively.

Yuki finished the instructions with a suggestion that Vania ought to decide how to accomplish those instructions herself, and smiled benignly at the girl in the unfortunate dress. "Well, Vania-chan? What do you think?"

"I think... I think," Vania breathed, her eyes wide and shining with the promise of well-intentioned mischief, "I think that's _genius_."


	4. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

* * *

"All right, everybody knows what to do. I don't have to mention again how important this is to all of you and more importantly, to me. I also know I don't have to mention what will happen if so much as an extra grain of salt gets put into anything!"

These were the words I and countless others were greeted­—and threatened with— early this morning. The head chef Victor Mewling clapped his hands together over his giant white apron. "I also don't have to mention," he continued reproachfully to us as if we were secretly planning to sabotage the wedding preparations, "that I had to beg for this opportunity. This is our chance to show how real cooking tastes. Those­—mages," he spat the word as if it were the nastiest word he could think of, "won't know what hit them." The fourth bell after midnight rang like the tolling of a death bell and we staff members swept to work. "Now LET'S COOK!" He bellowed the words, sweeping his large arms in the air above him bidding us to get cooking.

Several hours and several fire emergencies later we were all still working like the dogs we now unfortunately resembled. This wasn't just the chance of a lifetime for us; it was literally our last day working in the palace kitchens if we screwed up. Chef Victor had to beg the Lord Chamberlain for this opportunity, this opportunity being that us 'ungifted' chefs finally got to show what we're made of against those cheaters… ahem… mages. After all, everyone knows it takes time to make a decent meal, not finger waving and other flim-flam. At least that's what Chef Victor has drilled into my head for the past three years. Lately I am entirely inclined to believe him, about mages at least. Especially given my recent experiences with them.

Especially about him. Talor Sabir.

My hands tightened around the mixing bowl as I pictured his face where the cake icing was. "Miserable, lowlife, unfaithful…" I muttered darkly as something caught fire behind me. Sparks flew from Lycia's cooked pig and I barely noticed as the flames licked my bonnet.

"Watch out, Jamesra!" Chef Victor shouted at me from across the kitchens. I quickly got out of the way of several buckets of water as Lycia and many others scurried to get rid of the blaze before it ruined the pig. I left them to it before running to my cake cooling on the enormous windowsill. I sat the bowl beside a pile of cherries my friend Jakob Igsby was working with.

The window looked down into the western courtyard where servants hurried along the pathways and the gardeners cursed at those who tried to take shortcuts across the grass. At that precise moment a giant blue powder puff streaked across the lawn and those same gardeners bowed after its wake. I rubbed my eyes, suddenly uncertain of my sanity. Deciding not to dwell on the mysterious powder puff I moved my cake to a better icing vantage point. Daring to look down again, and not seeing anymore giant poof balls running around, I deigned to wish he would walk right under the window so I could dump something on him. Certainly not my cake after all that work, but maybe I could borrow Lycia's pig. From the smell coming from the steaming swine corpse I doubt anyone was going to have much use for it except the palace dogs.

"Are you all right Malley?" Jakob Igsby asked me as he placed a cherry on top of one of his tiny sweet cakes.

"Never been better, Jake," I said. Snapping out of my pig-related fantasy, I began slathering white frosting over the first layer of the post-wedding cake.

"Could have fooled me," Jake said, plopping a cherry in his mouth, taking a break even though the rest of the kitchen staff were hurrying to stay on schedule. My first impulse would have been to scold him for slacking off but I learned a long time ago that the only person Jakob Igsby listens to is Jakob Igsby. He pushed his dark bangs out of his eyes with the back of a floury hand before leaning against the paneling of the sill.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I asked, starting on the next layer of the double chocolate-tiered cake. I had baked two kinds of chocolate batter together to create a lovely­—if I do say so myself—color, texture, taste, and all together impressive dish. Hopefully King Jonathan won't be too pleased. I don't know if I would like getting up at four in the morning everyday. Not that I'm trying to be conceited or anything.

"Oh nothing, except you look ready to strangle something," Jakob said after swallowing thoughtfully.

"Strangle something?" More like somebody.

"Yeah, so how's Talor?" he asked, placing more cherries on his next batch of cakes. The knife froze in mid-swipe and I struggled not to take in a deep painful breath. I swallowed and then took a few breaths before I trusted myself to reply without sounding like a bullfrog.

"I don't know, and I don't care," I said through stiff lips.

"Trouble in paradise is there?" He said somewhat bitterly as he yanked the stem off of a cherry.

"Not that it's any of your business," I said as I narrowed my suspiciously dry eyes and began icing my cake again with more vigor than absolutely necessary. A stray brown curl escaped from under my cooking bonnet to spring hastily in front of my eyes. I paused to push it back under the brim.

"I told you he was scum," Jake said flicking the cherry stem out the window behind him. I turned to glare at him. Instead of being reduced to a pile of steaming ashes he of course, shrugged and twirled the de-stemmed cherry between long white fingers. I scowled at his bony frame and wondered absently how a chef like him stayed so skinny. It wasn't natural, it was like a scholar that couldn't read. I thought of Talor again. Maybe that was it, maybe he did what he did because he liked someone a little less curvier than me. Is that what it all comes down to? Is that what made him go to her? Whoever her was, I didn't even know her name. I swear, I bet Princess Shinkokami never has to worry about Prince Roald.

"Jamesra?" Jake asked tentatively, "You have that strangling look again."

I shook my head and wiped the backs of my dry eyes with my forearm. Talor was ruining my day again. It had been two days since we broke up. Two whole days, I should be over this by now. I should have been over it yesterday. Heck, I should have been over it the second I found them together in his study. I pictured her tall and lanky, with long shiny black hair, and dark skin. She was probably Carthaki by the look of her, but I couldn't be sure as I didn't stick around long enough to be introduced. Of course I did stay long enough to yell a bit. I don't even remember what it was that I said, but I must have gotten the point across because I haven't seen hide nor hair of him since then. Not that that would be so bad, provided I had something heavy and preferably pointed to throw.

"Malley?" Jake put a hand to my wrist and I realized I had let my knife lay on the window sill. I let go of it and turned to look at my friend.

"No I'm not okay," I said my mouth getting all shaky like it does every time I'm upset. I didn't even care that he hadn't asked if I was okay, that's what he meant. Of course I wasn't okay, I was making a cake that might actually be eaten by the king, or the future king or whoever and I couldn't even concentrate because I was so focused on my own drama. I am so not professional.

"Hey, you don't need him Malley," he said and I realized how far he'd come from the smart aleck know it all Tyran kid I'd met three years ago. We were the same age, both just graduating from culinary school. Now, still both barely out of our teens I think he's finally matured. Why can't I be mature? Is that what it was? No, I told myself, stop worrying what does it even matter anymore? He's a cheater, and you deserve better, just get over it already.

"You are amazing, now stop feeling sorry for yourself before you make me feel sorry for you, and you know you don't want that." Jake draped an arm around my back and for a moment I leaned my face into his shoulder. Just breathing in the smell of flour and the honey sweet aroma coming from his cakes.

"Thanks," I whispered.

"Hey, don't get so down kid," he said grabbing my arm and giving it a firm shake. "There's plenty of men around here who would be glad for you to be in their kitchen." I smiled and blinked steadily moistening eyes. That was possibly the nicest thing anyone has ever said to me.

"What are you doing standing around?" I said shoving his arm from around my shoulders. "We've got work to do."

"Of course master," he said mockingly sweet before getting back to work. I looked at him from the corner of my eye and smiled. Who needs guys like Talor when you have guys like Jake?


	5. Chapter 4

Gary looked around his office

Gary looked around his office. The paperwork was in place, and believe him, there was a lot of it. One of the many perks of being Prime Minister. His portrait of Cythera was hanging by the window. Gary had decided long ago that the painting, no matter how marvelous, did his wife very little justice. His bookshelf was filled to the brim, all books having being sorted categorically. There was not a speck of dirt to be found in the room; Gary had made sure of that. Everything was as it should be; which only made him the more nervous. So he began to walk.

"Sir?"

Gary stiffened with fright. He hadn't heard anyone enter the room. Slowly, Gary turned around and continued to walk to the bookshelf. "Edmund … you gave me quite the scare."

"My apologies, Sir."

Gary ran a hand through his hair and slowly began to walk towards the window. He could have sworn that his hair was lessening with every day that past.

"Lady Cythera would like you to be reminded of your plans to dine tonight."

Gary nodded blankly. "Erm, thank you … Edmund."

Mithros curse it, he'd forgotten all about the dinner.

"May I be so bold as to ask what preoccupies your mind?"

Gary stopped and looked at his butler. "How could you tell that my mind was preoccupied?"

Edmund did his best to hide the smile forming at the edges of his mouth. "The relentless pacing, for one, Sir."

Gary paused. He couldn't tell Edmund the truth. "Tell Cythera I'll be ready by the next bell."

"Yes, Sir." Edmund bowed and left.

Once the door had shut, Gary continued to pace. He couldn't help it. He had spent years of his life, along with their Majesties and the House of Mindelan securing a betrothal for Roald. A betrothal that would also benefit Tortall and its relations with the Yamani Isles. After all that had passed in those years, Gary stilled prayed to Mithros. He prayed that Shinkokami would never encounter an earthquake, not even the slightest tremble. He made offerings weekly. He didn't want to go through the stress of the last earthquake ever again. The scrambling and fretting to secure a new betrothal. Gary was certain that no other, not Jon, Thayet or any of the Mindelans would ever want to go through that again.

Now that the wedding was merely hours away, Gary was more concerned than ever before. He stopped pacing.

Surely things would turn out just fine? Gary thought back to how he was feeling just days before his own wedding … only to wish he hadn't. Yes, he'd felt happy, excited; heck he had thought he was the luckiest man in the Eastern Lands for obtaining his beloved Cythera's hand. Slowly, though, other emotions invaded his memories. Apprehension, self doubt and at one point Gary distinctly remembered having cold feet.

Suddenly Gary felt the need to have a small talk with Roald.

"Edmund," he called. There was no reply. He didn't expect one. His butler would be off conveying Gary's reply to his wife.

With a sigh, Gary left his office and began to walk over to the Prince's chambers. He doubted Roald would be in them, but it was as good a place as any to start searching.

A bell later, with pitiful success, Gary decided to return to his office. It was in one of the hallways that he first heard the sound of a stampede. Gary turned the corner only to find a group of youth – (some of the royal children also?) – running towards him. Or his direction, rather. Gary was certain that they were not looking for him.

They stopped as they caught sight of Gary and sheepishly continued to walk down the corridor. Gary sought out the face of Roald.

"Your Highness, a word?"

Roald nodded. He looked at the others meaningfully. They walked off in silence. Gary was certain he could hear them running once more, just shortly after turning the corner. This puzzled Gary, but he didn't dwell on the thought.

"Uncle Gary?" Roald asked.

Gary blinked. He hadn't realized just how long they had stood in silence for. "Just wanted to check in with you. See how you are doing."

"Ah." Roald nodded. "I'm fine for the most part."

"Not nervous at all?"

"A little." He grinned. "Should I not be?"

"No, no. Nervous is good. Keeps your wits about you, keeps everything from going to your head." He paused. "Not that I'd imagine it would go to your head."

"Uncle Gary, were you nervous? Was, was my father?"

"Your father was more nervous for the kingdom than for the marriage. We were in a period of great turmoil then, you see. But he loved Thayet greatly."

"As you do Cythera."

Gary nodded. "As I do Cythera."

Roald stopped to ponder that. Love. Did he love Shinko?

The silence made Gary uneasy. "One day, Roald, you will make a fine king, and you'll have one of the finest queens to rule by your side."

"Thank you."

"That's a boy." Gary briefly touched a hand to Roald's shoulder. "You'll do fine."


	6. Chapter 5

**Cold Feet**

Chapter 5

Jump, the dog, inhaled.

_What was that SMELL? _ he wondered. Whatever it was, it smelled better than anything he had ever smelled before. He followed his nose and ended up at the door to the main Palace Kitchen.

He paused at the entrance, eagerly wagging his tail; drooling just a bit. He quickly glanced back and forth looking for anyone that might stop him then eased his way inside.

From a dog's-eye-view he saw...feet. Lots of them. Feet that were moving faster and more furiously than normal, it seemed. Jump darted away from a wooden spoon that had somehow come flying through the air at him.

"Darn dog!!" screeched an angry male voice. "Get out of the kitchen!"

Jump darted out of the way, passing a female and male cook who looked to be very into each other, weaving in and out of different pairs of shoes.

_What is going on?_ He thought. _All I'm trying to do is nab a piece of meat or something tasty and these humans are going nuts on me!_

SMACK! Lost in his thoughts (for dogs at the Palace in Corus did have concrete thoughts), he had run right into the head chef, Victor Mewling.

The glare from much farther above Jump was formidable. "Get out, mutt!" barked Mewling. "Don't you know what's going on, you wretched animal? I've got to cook for thousands of wedding guests, or my _head_ will be on the plate! Scram!" He tossed a sausage at Jump to make him happy and shooed him out of the kitchen.

_Wedding!!_ thought Jump. _No wonder!_

Jump understood the concept of weddings. Dogs didn't have them, but humans did. Most of the people he knew nowadays had a wedding before they could mate and have puppies, er, children. But Jump had been traveling with higher class humans for many years now.

Actually, in everywhere BUT the palace kitchens, Jump was treated like any warrior. He certainly had 

proved himself many a time. Why, that time when he had helped with the savages in the Battle of the Hill when Kel was merely a page, or that time when a centaur had nearly killed Kel, or just the fact that he was always by Kel's side.

He was better for it. Before coming to the Palace in Corus, Jump had actually had a much harder life.

Jump had once been a mutt in the Lower City of Tortall. A mutt that roamed around without a home. His life was made of scrounging for food in gutters and trash cans. If he was lucky, he might find something edible. But as food was scarce down there, no one really had any to throw away. His favorite spot was the Dancing Dove Inn, which was centered in the Lower City and where the Court of the Rogue was. That was where he had the most chance of getting some decent scraps.

Once, he had risked sneaking in the kitchen at the Dove instead of watching the trash cans in the back. He ended up with his ear being sliced off by a knife that came flying his way. Jump had still managed to grab a huge piece of meat and run even as the blood flowed out of his head.

_Food. Food. Food._ Was it all he thought about? Well, yes!

_But what else was a dog to think about?_ Jump mused to himself, trotting unnoticed through the palace halls. Having spent most of his life not knowing where the next meal would come from, he didn't blame himself for not being able to let go of his food worries. Jump thought it was a darn shame that food was so plentiful at the Royal Palace, yet the people of the Lower City were starving. It didn't make sense. Why couldn't they just _share_?

Jump knew that there was more to the situation than he understood, though. That's why he stood by Kel. She was a heck of a better thinker than he was and she always fed him well. _Mmm…sausage._

Kel thought that Jump was so intelligent; she was always telling him. It was true, he was a lot smarter now than when he roamed the slums. People and animals were so much more intelligent in the Palace. Especially the animals. Jump figured it was probably due to Daine, the Wildmage, hanging around. Animals just flocked to her for that human interaction.

Jump and his buddy Peachblossom thought that was silly. They both preferred Kel over Daine any day. Kel had her own special way with animals, a gentle touch and manner of handling them. Jump would do anything to help Kel out. After all, she was the one who had first saved him (he let Kel go for trying to make Daine keep him at first). He knew it had been a good idea to run away to the Palace. He had heard rumors of grand feasts and elegant desserts, but hadn't counted on finding such a companion as Kel. That's why he liked to always be there to help her out. No matter what, he would always fight for Kel, and use every bit of his doggy brain to make sure she was alright. She was a female amongst so many men; _some_one had to take care of her.

_And where _was_ she, anyway_?? Jump agonized, swallowing his treat. _With all of these wedding preparations going on, she's gotta be around here somewhere. _

Just then a blue puffball– or was that a girl? – nearly ate it right on top of him.

"Jump!" it (she?) screeched. "Sorry, boy, I gotta run!"

Oh, it was just the youngest Princess, Vania. Jump forgave her for almost killing him. The girl was always so full of energy and on some kind of conquest.

Today it was definitely not just her, though. Everyone was running around like – like chickens with their heads cut off! Not like he'd ever seen chickens with their heads cut off, but he imagined that's how they would look…Shouldn't these people have been prepared BEFORE the actual wedding day? _Silly humans…_

Rounding a corner, Jump ran smack into a short woman, who was accompanied by a much taller, bulky one. _Kel!_ Jump thought, wagging his tail furiously.

"Oh Jump," smiled Kel's companion, Ilane of Mindelan, Kel's mother. "Not now, my boy. She's getting ready for a big party and she can't ruin her clothes."

Jump drooped his head a bit and whined in protest – he wanted to stay with Kel!

"Don't worry, Jump!" Kel laughed. "I'll have plenty of gourmet wedding food and cake to give you later!"

Jump wagged his tail again. _In that case,_ he thought, _it's definitely worth the wait!_


	7. Chapter 6

**Cold Feet, Chapter 6, by anythingatall  
**

"I think that's it, Keladry." Ilane of Mindelan finished tying the complex knot in her daughter's obi, and smoothed the fine silk with her hands. "Turn round and let me look at you."

Kel turned to face her mother, moving as smoothly as she knew how. The complex Yamani outfit felt restrictive and unfamiliar; she hadn't worn a kimono in years, and this one was particularly ornate and complex. It was a lovely chestnut brown silk, with a wealth of embroidery. The pattern ran over her shoulders, then down the sleeves and the seams of the garment, depicting ivy in shades of green and dark grey. The obi, her broad belt of umber silk, had a similar pattern picked out in brown threads. It was padded at the small of Kel's back, and made her stand up very straight and still.

"Well?" Kel asked Ilane. "Is everything alright?" She shifted her weight nervously.

"Oh, you are beautiful, my dear." Ilane's eyes glittered with emotion.

Jump rather spoiled the poignancy of the moment by whuffing his appreciation, but it was well intentioned.

"You aren't taking Jump to the actual ceremony, are you?" Ilane asked. "Don't touch your hair! The pins will shift!"

Kel tucked her hands out of the way in her kimono sleeves. "Jump pretty much goes where he pleases, Mama. He'll be good."

"I don't doubt it, but he's shedding rather a lot of white hair at the moment." Ilane nodded to the counterpane Jump lounged upon. "Just don't let him rub against that kimono."

Kel rolled her eyes and Ilane grinned a little. "I just want everyone to see how lovely you are, Kel."

"I can scarcely walk in these sandals." Kel added, slightly embarressed. "I will trip, you know, and that will be all anyone remember of me at this wedding."

"Well, dear, off you go and practice, then." Ilane opened the door. "Head down to the pavilion and speak to your father. You know how nervous he is, having to accompany Shinkokami down the aisle."

"Poor Papa. He's more nervous than Roald and Shinko put together, I think." Kel grinned, and headed out of Ilane's room. "I'll see you later, Mama."

"You, too, my dear. Do call that dog of yours."

"Jump!" He hopped off the bed and sauntered after Kel. Ilane went to shut the door behind her daughter.

"Do remember you can ask that nice Eldorne boy to hold your arm if you feel unstable on those sandals, dear!"

Kel gasped, and turned to tell her mother she would be asking Lerant no such thing, but came face to face with a securely closed door. Kel silently cursed mothers who thought they were more perceptive than they really were, before starting to make her way down the hall. She was concentrating so hard on taking tiny steps and keeping her balance that she almost walking into the green-and-white clad figure loitering against the wall.

"I almost didn't recognise you, Keladry, but, ah, there's the scowl, it's definitely you." Lerant grinned. He looked obscenely handsome, clean and smart in a good green silk tunic. "You scrub up quite well, you know. You look like a real Lady."

"Well, I should have a real gentleman to take my arm, but it seems I'll have to make do with you."

He laughed "Witty. I will oblige, but only because it would flout the Code of Chivalry to refuse you."

As they proceeded to the gardens, swapping insults, Kel wondered if Ilane's life time of diplomacy just meant she noticed these sorts of things automatically.

aaa

Ilane's lifetime of diplomacy was what was filling her mind as she added finishing touches to her appearance. She smoothed her hands over her kimono, which was made of dark grey silk, with just a little abstract pattern embroidered in cream and blue on her skirts. The paler grey obi was the exact colour of her hair. She tucked a _shukusen_ in her obi, not because she dreamt she might need it at a Royal wedding, but to complete her outfit as etiquette dictated. She and Piers had spent their lives as diplomats, and she supposed this wedding, and the Tortallan-Yamani treaty it cemented, could be seen as the pinnacle of their careers.

It was really their doing, then, today. The Wedding, the union of these two young people for the rest of their lives, was all the Mindelans' doing. Ilane grimaced at herself in the mirror. It was hard to think of her work in such immediate, intense terms. She always thought of the greater good, the health and safety of Tortall, of large things. The intimacy of today's ceremony was different altogether. Still, it was here, and it was now. Roald and Shinko seemed happy, as far as Ilane could tell.

She straightened one last hair pin, shifting it a scant inch before re-securing it. Time to go. Ilane took a deep breath, and headed out into the hall.

She had walked only a dozen paces before a dashing figure in a silver trimmed blue kimono appeared round the corner. Ilane scarcely had a chance to recognise Yuki before the young woman had raced up to her. Yuki was as panicked as Ilane had ever seen a Yamani.

"Oh, my Lady Ilane," Yuki gasped. "I am glad to see you this morning. I hope I find you well." She bowed, taking deep breaths so as not to gasp.

"Lady Yukimi, I am as ever at your service." Ilane was seriously worried by the lack of composure in the usually easy going Yamani.

"I would ask your advice, my lady." Yuki took a furtive glance, checking they were alone in the corridor. "My mistress is in, well, on her behalf I am in…in a conundrum, Lady Ilane."

"A _conundrum_?" Ilane asked. Surely Yuki had spent too long reading her dictionary - that or too long listening to Neal and his silver tongue. She sought to clarify the situation. "Is Shinko hurt? Ill? Upset…?"

Yuki gasped and caught Ilane's eye at the last work. Her lips trembled; only just holding back words and emotions, as was proper.

_Upset?_ Ilane's mind whirred…upset, in a conundrum, on her wedding day…it suddenly became clear.

"Lady Yukimi," asked Ilane, "Is Princess Shinkokami troubled by the forthcoming ceremony?"

"My Lady…I _knew _you would understand. And Neal is useful like.." there was a staccato burst of Yamani of which Ilane only just caught the meaning, "..so if all our babies have my looks and his brains, what will become of them!"

"Lady Yukimi.." Ilane paused. She was lost, for a second, but her practical nature rushed to her rescue. One thing at a time. "Yuki…take a deep breath dear…and again. Better?"

Yuki nodded. Pink spots high on her perfect cheekbones betrayed the height of her emotion, but she was more composed.

"Now, it is quite natural to be nervous before your Wedding - why, all my daughters have been. You should tell Princess Shinkokami to be sure it normal, and natural. I'm sure Prince Roald is nervous, too!"

Yuki gave a shrill little laugh, and snapped her fan open to cover her face. Ilane eyed her for a second. You didn't survive in the Yamani court for years without learning to read people.

"In fact," Ilane continued slowly, "it would be perfectly normal for them both to be as nervous as each other. It is a union of nations, as well as of two young people."

"Lady Ilane," Yuki said, "that is why I am worried."

"The thing, the thing to do, is to help them remember they are just two young people, who are fond of each other, and have been looking forward to this day. They have the rest of their lives to worry about politics, and love ever after, and children, and.." she paused, because Yuki was going pale as alabaster under her white face paint. "Exactly. So a day at a time, a minute at a time. Tell Shinko Roald is nervous too, but that he cares for her, and that is the most important thing." Ilane made a leap of inuition. "And Nealan can tell Roald the same thing in reverse." She saw a new gleam of respect in the young woman's eyes, and knew she was right.

"So what are you waiting for? Go!"

Yuki fairly fled down the hall. Ilane saw her almost collide with a puffball of blue, heard a flurry of words she couldn't quite make out, then a renewed patter of expensive silk on cobbled floors.

Ilane leaned against the wall, closed her eyes a second. She thought her diplomacy had been over for the present, things settled. Well, it was ever the way, things were never quite as they seemed. She took a deep breath and headed towards the gardens, to what, she fervently hoped, would be a wedding ceremony.

There was a wedding. It was beautiful, and moving, and all the other appropriate words. Roald was followed up to the pavilion by a sweating and flushed Neal, and Shinko was nearly late; but they were there.

Piers led Shinko, poised and pale like a china doll, up the aisle, between the congregation seated on the neat green lawn. The princess looked up only when she reached her groom, and she smiled. A real smile, tiny but warm. Roald returned it, and Ilane could see them grip each other's fingers, tight, taking comfort from each other. It would be alright.

Ilane let the words wash over her, like background noise, like waves. Tides of life, she thought. Moment by moment, the sea moves, and with time it turns rocks to sand. One moment at a time you change the world, one thought, one action, one word.

One word. Maybe two.

"I do."

They would do well, and they would change their worlds - all their worlds - doing it as well as they could, with thought and compromise. As the white cherry blossoms blew in the wind, Ilane smiled, wiped a tear from her eye.

"It went well, I think." Baron Piers took his wife's arm and they ambled over the lawn, last of the guests to leave the Wedding Garden. He nodded at a senior gardener, stumping over to some of the potted cherry blossom plants lining the aisle. "Lovely display!" Piers called, "Beautiful blooms!" The gardener just glowered.

Piers and Ilane walked for a second in amused silence.

"Nealan looked rather flushed - worried. Did you think so, dear?" Piers asked, eventually.

"I think that pink tunic was just rather unbecoming on him. Queenscove are not fortunate in their fief colours." Ilane mused.

"No." Piers smiled. "What fief is in green and white?"

"Green and white? In stripes?"

"Yes."

"Eldorne, I think. Why do you ask?"

"Kel's with a chap in green and white, is all. Look, over there. Just behind that hedge."

Ilane smiled, steered Piers back into the Palace, and said nothing. It was nice to know she wasn't losing her touch.


	8. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven- The Gardener**

by Heather the Writer (heather_neather)

As the sun breathes out its last puffs of golden light, the wedding celebrations continue. Servants whisk around the gardens, lighting candles and setting out food, treading carefully among the flowers for fear of upsetting the small, aging figure that glowers at them from over his rake. Nobles spill out into the gardens from the reception room and the old man's glare intensifies as he recognizes the two who had been wandering around the hedge earlier that day.

Not many people know the gardener's name, but everyone knows who he is. A soldier who fought in King Jasson's wars, he had returned quietly to the palace and taken up gardening. Many people speculate as to why – an occupation as noble as a soldier's does not compare with that of a gardener – but those who have seen war understand. Sometimes the body craves for something that stands in for hope because it has abandoned all other possibilities.

.

.

Fifty years ago, a soldier looked at peonies and remembered that they'd once seemed beautiful to him. He focuses on his work. Concentrates on his sword, feels flesh on his hand, grasps the clothes of another in a passionate grasp. Sword goes in. He stops thinking at all.

.

.

The planting of the Yamani lilies is a delicate process. Too much water and they grow too large, becoming weeds and parasites. Too little and they die. The Gardener pours water around the lilies, wincing at the noises coming from the Wedding Garden. Apparently the banquet is serving drinks.

.

.

How many centuries before the soul forgives the body? How long will it take before the difference between murder and a death is blurred together in the mind? The Gardener stares blankly at his hands, and wonders if the number of dead in the Scanra are more numerous than the rose petals arranged on the wedding tables.

.

.

It is growing dark now, and the Gardener tries to work faster. Although the slow movement of his limbs aggravates him, his shaking care seems appropriate, an acknowledgment of the value a single bulb has to him. The Yamani gardens are almost finished -a wedding gift to the new Princess from her new family- and are ready for viewing. Already wedding guests are commenting on the startling contrast between Yamani and Tortallan flowers. Some even notice the flowers that do not belong in this part of the garden at all – a cluster of Tortallan peonies peeking out from behind the miniature roses. The Gardener smiles at these comments. He places peonies in every garden he works in – a strange habit that the other gardeners have gotten used to. They believe it is a signature and the Gardener can't find the words to express what the peonies truly are.

Alone among the flowers, it's not surprising that, of all the gardeners in Tortall, it is this gardener who feels compassion for the peonies themselves. Aching for light and company, even though most are blind to their signals, petals flung open in a wide cry. Sending their messages to anyone who will listen, only to be crumpled up by cold steel.

The Gardener finishes his work, placing his shovel and trowel behind a bush where they will not be taken. Then he does what he does every night. He picks his way through the overbearing Yamani blossoms to a nearby garden and sits among the peonies. His back settled comfortably against an oak tree, he thinks. And he talks.

Today the topic of discussion is the wedding.

There is food. So much food. Enough for peasants and refugees and soldiers to eat for weeks. While mothers watch their starving children falling apart and wring their hands with worry, the Baron of Kennan feasts on suckling pig, mounds of vegetables, and several platters filled with Yamani delicacies that have been shipped at great cost for the wedding.

Flowers gradually veered the Gardener from his past. Night after night, their scented nectar dripped into his mind, diluting memory. But grief requires time. If a plant can be contained inside a fossil and live on, how stubborn will the heart be? If a sound wave never stops, does the sound of a scream last to infinity?

.

.

"You're the gardener in charge here, am I correct?"

The speaker is the princess who never stops moving. The Gardener never could put names to faces, so he remembers people by their actions.

The princess continues, seemingly undisturbed by his silence. "Could you arrange it so that the Yamani garden is empty when the newly-weds come to visit it?"

The Gardener nods his head in confirmation.

"Ah, excellent. You might want to make sure that the cherry trees are fire-proof. I'm going to decorate the garden with candles."

_Flowers aren_'_t fire-proof._ The Gardener wants to say. And he would hate to see the hours of work he had spent go up in flames. It had taken him one month alone to get the proper amount of blossoms on each cherry tree. The damned Yamanis were sticklers for details.

"Thank you!" A whirlwind of fabric, a peck on his cheek, and she is off, leaving a lone figure with his hand to his heart, wondering when the last time someone had shown him a gesture of affection.

.

.

"Here you are, old man. I've been looking for you."

The Gardener turns around to Tunston, his assistant. Turns to youth, strength, energy, and enthusiasm.

"I brought you some food, figured you would be done by now."

Tunston sits down, hands him a napkin of food.

"I'm not hungry." The Gardener says, then notices that Tunston is not paying attention. He eats the food and waits.

"Isn't she beautiful?"

The Gardener doesn't bother to ask who. He shifts his gaze to the nearest girl – a young noblewoman – who is flirting coquettishly with a group of knights.

"Her name is Ruby."

The Gardener doesn't know where to look first. Her dress, dangerously low-cut, or the glass in her small hand.

"I'm going to write to her, tell her how I feel."

The Gardener looks at Tunston. Sees his dark eyes, lit with fear and clouded by doubt. Sees his clothes, worn and patched, but brushed carefully of dirt. He pities Tunston, who has only ever wanted to be greater than he actually is. He claps Tunston on the back. "Write to her." he says. And he thinks, _write to save yourself, and someday you will write because you have been saved._

There is a squeal of high-pitched laughter, and the unmistakable thud of a body hitting the ground. The Gardener turns. A noblewoman is drunkenly rolling over his peonies.

* * *

Many, many thanks go to spheralunaris for painstakingly going through everything I wrote.


End file.
